


heart-shaped hole in my chest

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [14]
Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Disease, Doctor Clarke, Established Relationship, F/M, Illness, Marriage, Sorry whoops my hand slipped and suddenly death is among us, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From an angsty anon prompt on tumblr: "I only have a month left. Two at best." With Bellarke please :)</p><p>Bellamy is dying and Clarke's a doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heart-shaped hole in my chest

**Author's Note:**

> Angst angst angst angst
> 
> If you want to prompt me, my tumblr is bowlingfornerds - I would add a link, but I have no idea how to do that.
> 
> Enjoy

Clarke had grown up in hospitals, that Bellamy knew. He knew that she had sat on empty beds and let the nurses push her down hallways; stolen every spare pen she found lying around on a desk, and delivered food to patients for the nurses when she was bored. He knew that some of her favourite memories involve sitting in those hallways, meeting people and learning just by listening. He knew all of that.

But he also knew that some of her least favourite memories developed there, too. He knew that she sat at the end of his bed as her father never woke up, and cried in the hallways she had once loved, waiting for Wells to move again after being shot. He knew that she had to be dragged away, both times, kicking and screaming, hoping that her distress would be enough to jumpstart their hearts.

Bellamy knew that he was going to ruin hospitals for her again.

“Hey,” she smiled, leaning on the nurses’ station. Clarke wore her white lab coat, her blonde hair tied up, and while she had been on a twenty hour shift, she also looked gorgeous to him. Then again, Bellamy always thought she looked gorgeous. He pressed a brief kiss to her mouth in greeting. “How’d the appointment go?”

He’d asked her not to come with him; Bellamy didn’t know how he was supposed to have an appointment about how long he had left when he was alone, let alone with her clutching his hand, fighting back tears.

Bellamy just shook his head, nodding towards one of the on call rooms. Clarke followed him in, silently.

“What did he say?” She asked. Clarke’s voice was quiet, practically a whisper, as if she didn’t even want him to hear her. He landed heavily on the bed, feeling the familiar pain in his chest. He didn’t speak for a little while, just hung his head and breathed through the pounding in his body. He could never explain it properly; and Clarke, as a doctor, spent more time learning about his problem than learning what she needed to past med school.

“Nothing good,” Bellamy replied eventually. Her hand grasped his and suddenly they were connected; two boats, one drowning out at sea and the other so easily docked by the shore. Bellamy was barely staying afloat.

“Bell?” He heard the crack in her voice, and he leant forward, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Clarke.” She sniffed and he sighed, shutting his eyes and wondering if the darkness would be similar to when it was all over.

“Did he give you a line?” He nodded, but just barely. They called it a ‘line’ in doctor-speak. The line that the patient wasn’t going to pass; a fixed point in the future that they would reach and then stop at. He hated that line; it had been fluctuating for years, since he first got the pains in his chest at seventeen years old. He hadn’t been healthy enough to look after Octavia, when their mother died two years later, and suddenly she was ripped from him like he was going to be from the world.

But that line – it had been two years, at one point, and then in the next appointment, they said two weeks. A couple of months, a couple of years – _you won’t be going past twenty five, Mr Blake,_ he was promised. But there he was, thirty three. And he’d been given another line – only, recently the lines had been getting smaller and smaller, closer and closer, like the doctors were sure this time, and not just making things up.

“I only have a month to live,” he whispered. “Two at best.” Bellamy couldn’t hear Clarke breathing anymore, and he could barely hear the sound of himself. He had to check that his lungs were still working, focusing on the in and out, before looking up at his wife and staring, wide eyed at the tears that traced her cheeks.

“Bellamy,” was all she said, and it was a whispered prayer; his name like a hope and a dream, and everything unachievable coming to a head.

“It’s going to be okay, Princess,” he lied. Bellamy hated lying to her, but he’d done it since he met her. He always lied about his illness _; I’m fine, I don’t hurt today, I’ll make it to an old age – just you wait_. Bellamy refused to lie about anything else.

“ _Bellamy_ ,” she repeated, and this time Clarke’s voice broke on the first syllable as she flung her arms around him. They held each other for a while, just clutching at the love of their life.

“Clarke,” he said lowly, pulling away even when he would give anything to stay in her arms forever. “Clarke, it’s almost three – I need to pick up the kids.” She gave him a look that was a doubtful but she nodded anyway.

“I’ll be home in about an hour,” she told him. “Maybe we can have a family day this weekend?” They’d had a lot of family days, recently.

“And a you-and-me night, tonight?” He suggested, forcing a smile. They’d had a lot of those, too. Clarke nodded and kissed him soundly, as if trying to imprint her lips onto his; even in the grave they would stay there, and he would be able to feel her still wherever he ended up.

She walked out with him, until they reached the car. Bellamy wasn’t feeling too bad, that day. The next, he was in bed, barely able to move and the day after that he was feeling well enough to play twister with his daughter and pretend to fall on her, over-exaggeratingly sighing at his defeat. Still, his eyes would catch Clarke’s gaze, from across the room, and he would take a mental snapshot, like she was probably doing, too; even on the other side, he wanted to remember the way she looked when she loved passionately and whole-heartedly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks for the anon who prompted me!
> 
> Remember to comment what you thought and click the kudos button that grants you immortality (immortality cannot be guaranteed after clicking the kudos button). Thanks!


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